


Midnight on the Firing Line

by darthmelyanna, miera



Series: stargate_ren [18]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-29
Updated: 2007-11-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthmelyanna/pseuds/darthmelyanna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: John Sheppard and Cameron Mitchell join with the Caldoran militias, where they must contend with their fellow noblemen, not to mention the elements, and the tense ennui of waiting to confront the Goa'uld invasion force.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story simply wouldn't have happened without my usual coconspirators angelqueen04 and miera_c, nor without sache8, who were all there for me through the writing of this story, and especially when real life took a sobering detour.
> 
> The title is shamelessly swiped from a Babylon 5 episode, but we're not really referencing that show today, aside from that. I am, however, stealing from two historical battles, one rather famous and one rather obscure.

_Be copy now to men of grosser blood, and teach them how to war._

_~_ Henry V _(III.i.1115-1116), William Shakespeare_

The great oak doors burst open with a sound so loud that to those within the room, it felt as though the whole world was about to shatter, under the whim of the man in black.

Henry, King of Caldora, was bent over a table spread with maps and ledgers, several noblemen with him, when the sound startled him away from his close perusal of the documents. A few of the men with him were on the verge of shouting, but every voice fell silent at the sight of the man walking into the throne room with a confidence that was almost intimidating.

Four years had passed since John of Sheppard had last been in this room, his face pale and anguished as Henry pronounced him exiled from the country. Yet the young man had not begged for mercy, even when his mother, Lady Isabelle, had begun to weep at the sentence. That was what had stuck with Henry all these years: John had refused to beg.

The man walking toward him now was obviously older, his expression hard and his gait unwavering. He was dressed in black and grey, in mourning for his father, but that was not what drew Henry's attention. John wore the crest of Sheppard upon his tunic and his cloak, but on the hilt of his sword was a symbol Henry had seen a few times since autumn, embedded in the wax of a seal.

The winged steed – the crest of Atalan, and the symbol of John's loyalties.

When John was standing directly across the table from him, he bowed respectfully. He straightened again and glanced around at the various nobles, all of whom were rather speechless at the sight before them. Henry could hardly blame them, for he was somewhat at a loss himself. He nodded back to John and then spoke to the men around him. "Will you excuse us for a moment, gentlemen?" he asked.

The lords cleared out, some with great haste but some with lingering curiosity, leaving John and Henry to stare at each other. The new marquis remained silent, clearly intent on letting the king have the first say. Henry cleared his throat. "I am sorry for your loss, Lord John," he said. "Your father was once a great friend of mine, and his death is a great tragedy. For everyone."

John's expression softened slightly, and he nodded. "Thank you, your Majesty," he replied. "And thank you for allowing me to return before it was too late."

Henry blinked twice, surprised at the lack of bitterness in John's voice. For a fleeting moment he thought about offering his own apologies, but then the younger man looked down, obviously collecting himself back under the rigid, self-containing mask he'd entered with. Henry turned their conversation elsewhere, coming around the table. "What information do you have to report to me?" he asked.

John clasped his hands behind his back. "The refugee crises in Madrona and Cheyenne have not abated, my lord," he said. "The Goa'uld have not made any attempt upon the cities yet, but the people are rightly afraid of traveling the countryside in any significant numbers. Supplies are running desperately low. I fear if a caravan does not risk a journey into Sheppard, my people will soon begin to starve."

Henry nodded. "I had anticipated as much. I have already ordered that supply caravans be organized. With the supplies sent to us by Queen Elizabeth, we should be able to hold out a while longer."

The marquis jerked visibly at the mention of the young queen, but he collected himself before Henry had finished speaking. "By this time my cousin should be with the militia," he said. "I gave him instructions to bring most of the company back to Dixon, as you requested. The rest are guarding the cities."

The king nodded again, turning over in his mind the way John had phrased that. As he _requested_. Henry had thought that an order when he'd issued the decree, and somehow he believed John knew that. Without much subtlety, John was trying to tell him something.

Since the Ori had gone, since Caldora had lost a generation of men, the assembly of peers had attempted to wrest control of the nation away from the monarch. They had not gone so far as to remove the kingship entirely, but under Henry's predecessor, the assembly had decentralized the government, converting the army into militias controlled by provincial lords. The old king had died virtually powerless, doing nothing to check the assembly in their grab for control. No longer was it strictly required for a new lord to take an oath of loyalty to the crown before taking his place in the assembly and over a province. So far no nobleman had refused that, but Henry could see it becoming an issue very soon.

When the previous king died leaving no heir - his children all long dead in the Ori war - the assembly had selected Henry of Landry as their new king, intending to control him as they would a shadow puppet: all pomp and show and little substance. Henry had perhaps surprised them, but they still managed to make his job very difficult at times. Now, when the country was at war and he needed the cooperation of all those men who had put him on the throne, some were holding out in a stubborn refusal to relinquish their power.

Henry hoped sincerely that John of Sheppard, though he carried an Atalanian blade that represented his independence from this court, would not be one of those men.

"We will speak more in the morning," Henry replied. "I confess, I am in great need of any man with your experience. But for now, take your rest. You have had two difficult journeys in recent weeks."

"Indeed," John replied. "I will join you tomorrow."

As the marquis left, Henry frowned, his eyes fixed on the blade John wore. He knew he had not earned the younger man's allegiance or loyalty or respect, but as the night wore on, he prayed that he had them. He did not need his past mistakes to complicate the situation already on his hands.

* * *

  
When Cameron reached Cheyenne, the provincial capital of Sheppard, the militia was buzzing with gossip about the Goa'uld. He barely had time to relay John's order to remove most of the troops to Dixon before hearing that the enemy was acting strangely. The northernmost flank, which the Caldorans believed was loyal to a Lord Ba'al, had slowed almost to a halt. Rumors abounded as to why, but Cameron would consider none of them. He had too many other things on his mind.

Cameron had been tasked to keep up the rear flank of the Sheppard militia as they traveled around Ba'al's forces to join the rest of the army. He had never done anything like it before, but that was hardly a unique excuse among the warriors of Caldora. So when Cameron had been given the order by his commander, he had swallowed his objections and simply acknowledged his task.

He and his men were three days out from Cheyenne, and the new moon was low in the eastern sky. On previous nights a faint mist had shrouded the land, but tonight it was clear. The lack of any kind of cover made Cameron extremely nervous, and he knew he would not sleep, no matter how tired his body became.

They were only a few more days from Dixon. Cameron only had to hold his breath a little while longer.

It was well after midnight when one of his men approached the bedroll where he was not sleeping. The man seemed surprised to find him awake. "My lord," said Nicholas Elliot, his squire, "there's someone approaching us."

Cameron pushed himself up on one elbow. "Have you anything more substantial than that, Elliot?"

Nicholas looked around for a moment. A few of the other men were stirring, perhaps awoken by the conversation, and he lowered his voice. "It's a Goa'uld raiding party," Nicholas answered. "We're not more than five miles from their camp. This group is about a mile away."

Cameron got to his feet immediately, his squire standing with him. "And we are easily picked off, or so they think," he replied. "Get the rest of the watch and wake the men, _quietly_."

Nicholas nodded and moved off to follow the order. Cameron ran his hands through his hair, trying to come up with a plan.

The militia had camped alongside the bank of Bird Creek, a wildly meandering stream that fed into the Otero River. There were hills to either side, and Cameron had placed his company on the side of one of the hills for the night. If the Goa'uld crested the rise and swarmed into the valley, even a small party would have a significant advantage over the slumbering men of Sheppard.

Before the men were all roused, Cameron had half an idea in his head and began giving instructions to his lieutenants. Every man in his company had a sword, but no more than fifteen were skilled archers. Cameron thought ruefully of his cousin John and his proven skill with the arrow, and how useful he would have been now. The Ori had taken the arms masters as well as the archers, leaving very few to train those who remained.

There was no time to dwell on that, however, as Cameron led his men up the slope of the hill. Already he could hear the sounds of enslaved Jaffa marching toward them. Subtlety, it seemed, was not something the Goa'uld valued.

With no moonlight to speak of, it was dreadfully dark, but when Cameron and his men came to the crest of the hills they could see torches burning along the edges of the Goa'uld ranks. Yet there was no change in their approach as the Caldorans appeared on the hilltops. Cameron could only assume that they could not see that far. He smiled just a little. This plan he'd slapped together might work after all.

On his signal, the archers stepped forward to the crest of the hill, bows and arrows at the ready. "Five volleys as quick as you can, on my mark," he said lowly, moving down the line and repeating the instruction a couple of times, making sure everyone had heard. The rest of his men were on either side of the archers, crouched down with swords drawn. He waited until the first lines of Goa'uld troops had reached the slope, then yelled, "Fire!"

The archers let their volleys fly, and already Cameron could see the chaos below them. Men shouted and torches fell to the earth, in some places setting the thirsty grass ablaze. As the Goa'uld grasped for order and tried to charge up the hill, Cameron and his men swarmed upon them.

The small fires and tremendous smoke only furthered the confusion among the Goa'uld. Cameron met his first victim at a run, sword clashing against sword. He disarmed the man handily before moving in for the kill. Before the first body had hit the ground, he engaged another, his eyes already stinging with sweat and smoke.

Even this small party of Goa'uld outnumbered Cameron's men, but the Caldorans had the advantage of the high ground as well as surprise. The Goa'uld officers were still trying to bark out orders, but to no avail. Everywhere, bodies fell at the whim of Caldoran blades. It seemed like only a few minutes had passed before Cameron had killed the last of the raiders. It surprised him as much as anyone else, but his tactic had worked.

He tossed his sword to the ground and bent over, resting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath. When he looked up again, he could see by the light of the fires how steep the hill was. Nicholas was picking his way down the slope, having helped a wounded comrade back up. "My lord?" he prompted.

"Good work," Cameron said, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "We wouldn't have stood a chance without surprise on our side."

Nicholas nodded. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Gather some men to put out the fires," Cameron replied. "Then go back to camp and report to whoever is coming to find out what this noise was."

With Nicholas dispatched, Cameron picked up his sword again and wiped the blade on the ground, cleaning the blood off before sheathing it. It was only then that he noticed a cut on his arm, not deep but still bleeding. The dull pain from it was the only thing that convinced him that he had not conjured this success in a dream.

* * *

  
Carolyn, Princess of Caldora, woke just before sunrise, washed her face, and took her breakfast alone. This was hardly an unusual occurrence, but this morning, before the servant girl left the food, she whispered with wide eyes, "Did you hear, my lady? Lord John of Sheppard arrived last night."

Carolyn had not heard, and she ate her breakfast a little quicker than usual.

Her father was alone in the throne room when she slipped through the massive doors. When he looked up to see her, he smiled. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Father," she replied. "I have heard that John of Sheppard arrived last night. Is this true?"

"You waste no time in getting to the point," he said, amusement in his voice. "Yes, the marquis arrived last night. I expect him to join me this morning."

Carolyn nodded. "May I join you as well, Father?" she asked.

Henry's smile turned wry. "You waste no time at all, do you?"

She could feel herself blushing, but still she protested his implication. "You know I have wished to hear what you will do to counter the Goa'uld force," she said. "I had half a mind to ask your permission before I heard that Lord John had returned."

The king sobered. "Indeed," he replied. "I was going to ask for your presence anyway."

"Why?"

"Carolyn, you know I am leaving in a week to command the army myself," he said. "I want to leave you here as my regent."

Carolyn couldn't help it. Her jaw dropped. "Me?"

"That's what I said," her father replied calmly.

"But I'm nineteen years old," she protested, "and moreover a woman!"

"Two facts of which I am well aware."

"Then what makes you think I will have any authority?"

"Because I will give it to you," Henry replied. "I trust you, Carolyn. Already I am trusting you to select my heir, so why should I not trust you with the running of my country for a little while?" He sighed. "You and I will have the next week to discuss what will be required of you. I know you will feel like you need more time, but you have a good head on your shoulders. You know more than you realize. Besides, I will not leave you alone. Barrett and Davis will both be here to help you."

"You will not take them with you?" Carolyn asked, surprised.

He shook his head. "I trust them, and I trust them with you," he told her bluntly. "And you will have more use for them than I will."

At the other end of the hall, the doors opened, and the king nodded to give men permission to enter. Carolyn laid her hand on her father's arm. "Father, just how much of the world do you intend to change at once?" she asked quietly.

He smiled at her. "As much as possible."

The noblemen were entering the throne room, and last among them was John of Sheppard. Despite her earlier words to her father, Carolyn could feel her heart speed up a little in anticipation.

She had been but fifteen the day he was cast from Caldora, and it seemed that time or her age or sentimentality had altered his appearance. Oh, he was still exceedingly handsome, but he seemed so much older now, and sadder. Carolyn remembered a man who had loved to tease and flirt, and she wondered if that man was gone forever, or simply dormant beneath the grief over his father's death.

Most of the men who had come to see her father were surprised by her presence at his side, but none more so than Lord John. He bowed before her and kissed her hand when she offered it. "Princess."

"Lord John," she replied. "Welcome home."

He said nothing in reply, but a strange expression passed over his face which puzzled Carolyn.

Her father called their attention to the table, still spread with maps and ledgers and all manner of paperwork. Carolyn did her best to follow the conversation, but truthfully, there was so much new information to absorb that she felt she did a very poor job of it. She had thought she was well acquainted with the people and places her father and the nobles were discussing, but she had never considered them in terms of war. The weather in the plains of Dixon or the depth of the rivers in the western provinces had always seemed like trivia to her, not information of vital importance as it was now.

Yet what struck her most was how John of Sheppard carried himself in the meeting. He, like her father, was obviously a man who had fought in wars, yet four years away from Caldora had not dulled his knowledge of the country. The years had, however, apparently loosed whatever restraint he had once had for speaking to men of power, though Carolyn might have attributed that to the fact that he now outranked every man in the room, save one.

When the matter of troops and the eastern militias came up, Henry looked down at the table, and Carolyn knew her father was trying not to roll his eyes. This, she understood, had been the greatest point of contention among the nobility since the invasion began. Several of the men before him were lords of eastern provinces, and the most powerful of them had not yet relinquished their militias for the king's use. Carolyn could understand that they did not wish to stand defenseless, but she could hardly imagine that Doranda was about to attack them from the east, or Kelowna from the south, or even Atalan from the north.

Carolyn knew this was an argument that had been brought up several times over already. But there was something different this time, perhaps something her father thought would be an advantage. The king looked at Lord John. He said nothing, but the request was clear.

John stepped closer to the king, his arms folded over his chest. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the pocket of lords, "what right have you to hold back your troops? What right have you to deny your brothers the only chance they have of stopping this invasion? Or do you not know that once the Goa'uld have run over the western troops, you will be next? The east cannot defend itself alone any more than the west can. You must send every able-bodied man to the front, for the sake of your own lives if nothing else."

"You speak as though you have sent every able body to the front yourself!" Maybourne exclaimed. "I have heard reports that you have refused to take anyone into your own militia under the age of sixteen! Would not those shepherd boys be able bodies as well?"

John looked at him darkly, his voice taking on a terrifying weight and authority. "No boy in my province will come to manhood by spilling blood, Maybourne," he replied. "I will not permit it, not while I have any influence in the matter."

Briefly, and for no discernible reason, he glanced at Carolyn before he continued. "No one in this room knows better than I what the Ori did to us," John said. "I understand why you have spent the last sixteen years hoarding power, doing everything you can to keep the crown from repeating its mistakes."

He lowered his arms at last and walked toward Maybourne and the others with him. "But you chose this man as your king," he said, gesturing to Henry, and his voice began to rise. "You entrusted this man with the power of the monarchy, the sovereignty over you, and most of all your loyalty. It is your responsibility to give him what he asks for in a time of war. What right have you now to withhold any of that from him?"

Under John's steady gaze, Maybourne and his cohorts began to wilt a little, and Carolyn fought the urge to smile.

John turned then to the king. "My lord, with your permission I will accompany you to the army's encampment," he said. "I would not deprive you of a soldier."

Henry nodded, and John bowed before sweeping out of the room. Carolyn watched in satisfaction as the eastern lords made their apologies and promises of sending their militias to the front. They too were gone before long, leaving Carolyn alone with her father.

He smiled at her slightly. "I am not doing any favors for you by leaving you with these men."

"It could be worse," she replied, causing him to look at her sharply. "You could be leaving me with their sons."

At that he laughed, but Carolyn remained sober. "Father, are you sure I can do this?"

"Yes," he said simply, and the tone of his voice left no room for doubt.

* * *

  
The militia of Sheppard reached the army encampment in Dixon without further incident, a fact for which Cameron was eternally grateful. He had barely slept in the days following the attempted Goa'uld ambush, and he hoped that he would have a few days to recuperate before the army did anything rash.

Three days after his arrival, a party of well-armed, well-supplied men also arrived, but they were not bringing supplies to the troops. Instead, they were heading to Cheyenne and Madrona. Cameron was glad to see them, but theirs was a dangerous task. He and the other officers of Sheppard did their best to guide the supply convoy through the lines of the Goa'uld advance.

A few days after the caravan had come and gone, the trumpets sounded at early evening. Cameron's whole body tensed at the sound, but it was not a call to arms. It was the herald of the king. Before the sun was down the royal party was in the midst of the camp.

Cameron's cousin rode with the king, which did not surprise him. John was easily recognized among the many men, being the only one dressed in black. He spotted Cameron quickly, for the same reason, and dismounted, leading his horse over to the tent Cameron was occupying. "Cousin," John said, "I have heard reports of you seeing action already."

Cameron nodded, though reluctantly. "We stopped for the night along Bird Creek," he explained quietly. "The Goa'uld thought to attack us."

"I was not speaking of the militia as a whole," John replied. "There are rumors that you orchestrated a counterassault and slew a dozen men yourself."

Cameron could feel his face getting red. "I was not counting, cousin."

John smiled a little. "The king wishes to speak with you."

"With me?" Cameron asked, startled.

"He's the one I heard the report from, Cameron."

John clapped him on the shoulder and walked off to take care of his horse. Cameron stood there, frozen for a minute, trying to figure out what exactly he was to do. He was still standing there when John returned. The older man laughed, grabbed him by the arm, and propelled him along toward the tent in the center of the camp, where King Henry was setting up his war room.

They arrived in the tent in time to see the king take off his traveling cloak and cast it to a chair nearby. Cameron mostly tried to stay out of the way, first while John was greeting those men who had already been at the encampment, and then as the king went over the current situations and plans. He was only a captain, and an inexperienced one at that. He felt rather out of place here and did not quite know why his cousin had dragged him along to this. Could he not have come later?

As the meeting began to break up, the king said, "Lord Mitchell, a word."

Cameron exchanged a look with John as his cousin left, and swallowed hard.

Once the tent had cleared out, Cameron stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back. "Sire?" he prompted.

"I understand I owe you my thanks," King Henry said.

"You are my king, sir," Cameron replied, feeling his neck and cheeks heating. He was no more comfortable with this interview than he had been the previous times he had met with the king. "I did my duty."

Henry smiled, just a little. "Son, I will be honest with you. To find a man who will do his duty without hope of reward is a rare thing." He leaned against the table. "It is something of a relief to know that I have your loyalty. I have not gone out of my way to make allies of your family."

Cameron frowned. "You pardoned my cousin."

"It would have been a greater favor to have pardoned him four years ago." The king sighed and stood up straight. "But I did not ask you to stay in order to belabor the past."

Cameron decided to say nothing, but looked at the older man expectantly. Henry continued, "You have proven yourself a man of some skill with the sword. From the reports I have heard, you kept your calm in an emergency, and dispensed with the Goa'uld force with alacrity."

"It was not difficult to counter their attempt," Cameron protested. "They are neither subtle nor greatly adaptable."

Henry laughed a little. "What I am trying to say, Lord Mitchell," he replied, "is that I would like you to join my officers."

Cameron's jaw dropped a little. He was an officer in Sheppard's militia, of course, but this was different. The king's officers were a collection of men from all over Caldora. They helped ease the gap between the king and the provincial militias, having sworn loyalty and service to the crown but also keeping close ties to their provinces. The whole system was perhaps less elegant than the organized army of Atalan to the north, but Cameron could see that it was a clever solution to the situation Henry had been presented with when the assembly of peers had dissolved the central army in favor of the militias. To be offered a place among them was quite an honor.

"What say you, young man?" the king asked, a little briskly. "Will you join me or no?"

Cameron blinked a few times, trying to regain some of his poise. "I would be honored, sir, of course," he replied. "Have you already spoken of this to my cousin?"

"Yes, I have," Henry said. "You men of Sheppard are unendingly loyal to each other, are you not?"

"He and I have no other family left, sir," Cameron replied. "I hope you do not expect anything less of us."

The king got an amused look on his face. "Off with you, then," he said. "I'm sure you and your cousin have much to speak of."

Cameron nodded then and left. John was standing just outside the tent waiting on him, with a maddening smirk on his face. "You knew exactly what he wanted me for," Cameron said without preamble.

John shrugged. "Of course I did," he replied. "I thought you would do better unprepared."

The two began to walk off toward their militia, and Cameron shook his head. "Only you would think that, John."

* * *

  
Seated astride his horse, John of Sheppard had an excellent view of the Caldoran army's camp. With him were his cousin and David, Earl of Dixon. John did not have to speak to them to know what they were thinking as they looked over the camp, for he was thinking it as well. There were too few men.

"So, king's captain," John said. His cousin bristled under the reminder of his new position, still unfamiliar to him. "Any ideas?"

"Since when am I the local tactician?" Cameron asked a little grumpily.

"Well, you have more experience with the Goa'uld than either of us do," Dixon said, tugging on his horse's reins to wander to a different spot.

"And yet it's you two who are giving me commands," Cameron replied.

"Life is like that, cousin," John said, smiling. Still, it was a little strange. He and Dixon were given command of their provincial militias, not just because they were rulers of those provinces, but because both of them had fought in the Ori war.

There weren't many among the nobility with experience in war, truthfully. King Henry had been involved in a few campaigns in his youth, but that was long ago and nothing like this. Fewer still had experience in leading men into battle. When the Ori had taken men, they took the officers of the army as well, but treated them no differently than they had treated boys like John. If anything, they had treated the Caldoran officers worse than the rest, throwing them into the heat of the battle where survival was nearly impossible. The Ori had no use for the experience of others, and those with experience were more likely to raise opposition, so they were dispensed with hastily and brutally.

John glanced at Dixon, whose face had darkened somewhat, and he wondered if David's thoughts ran in a similar vein. David was a few years older than John, and had also returned home to find himself heir to his household. But unlike John, he had married soon after his return, and now had four children. It was a little strange to think that the two of them had hobbled back to Caldora together, yet John still felt like he was trying to collect the pieces of his life.

Granted, it did not help that one piece of his life – the one that persistently came to his dreams – was far away on the northern sea.

He tried to push such thoughts from his mind, but his companions were no help. "Sheppard," David said, "Atalan fought wars with the Goa'uld, correct?"

"Not recently," John replied, frowning.

"More recently than we have." David tore his gaze away from the encampment and looked at John and Cameron. "The rumor has it that you were given some prominence in Queen Elizabeth's court. I wondered if you knew any old war stories that might give us some guidance."

John shrugged, pushing thoughts of Elizabeth and some of his more vivid dreams aside. "In the last few weeks I have found myself wishing I had plied Jack of Neill for more of his experiences," he said. "I do not know how much good it would have done us, though. His was a very different war." He looked at Dixon and added, "As was ours."

Dixon laughed mirthlessly. "I believe you are right."

The sound of hoofs beating on the earth drew John's attention away, and he looked to see a rider coming toward them. Cameron rode forward a little way and called, "What news?"

The rider pulled to a stop. "The king has called for you. All three of you."

John swept a glance at his two companions and nodded to the messenger. "We will be there directly."

By the time they reached the camp and dismounted from their horses, it had started to rain. This was the fourth time in a week that the afternoon had brought a storm, and John scowled at Dixon. "Is it always like this here?"

"At this time of year, yes," David replied. He looked off in the distance before they entered the king's tent and added, "I think the worst of it will be to the south of us."

They went inside, quietly shaking off as much of the water as they could, and John smiled a little to hear the king grousing at the turn of the weather. "Gentlemen," he said, after giving a baleful look at Dixon, as though he were responsible for the rain, "take your seats."

Cameron followed John through the wandering mass of men in the tent and sat down next to him on one of the benches at the long table. Here were gathered all the noblemen present in the camp and most of the officers of the various militias, save those who were currently on watch or on reconnaissance missions. John was a little surprised to realize that he could still place names on most of the faces around him, even after four years of exile.

But he was most surprised at the arrival of the Duke of Icaria. Lord Stephen Caldwell, who had spent time in the army as a younger man and served in some of the same campaigns as the king, could have easily stayed back in his lands on the southern border, but he had evidently chosen to bring his militia himself. John scowled a little, wondering what the man was hoping to gain by it but hating that he had to wonder.

Stephen Caldwell had always been a man of great ambition. After escaping the Ori army and coming home, John had heard rumors of how badly Caldwell had wanted the crown for himself. It had not been in the interest of the power-hungry assembly to appoint an already-powerful man to the throne, particularly one who had a notable strength of will and temper, but John could understand why it had stung to be among the most prominent in the nobility, yet overlooked for a man of comparatively lesser rank.

Now, however, Caldwell appeared perfectly allied with King Henry. John wondered when that alteration had transpired.

The king called for order, and John turned his thoughts away from the past. "Gentlemen," he said with a nod at Caldwell, "with the arrival of the duke and the forces from the east, we have assembled here the largest force Caldora can muster." There John noticed some scattered glances in his direction. Maybourne had not been the only one to object to John's decision to place an age restriction on his militia. Beyond that, he'd heard a few rumblings about how many men he'd left behind to guard Cheyenne and Madrona. After John had argued with one man about it, Cameron had advised him to say nothing against such accusations in the future, but to come back in the evening and curse away in his cousin's direction instead.

"What remains to be decided," the king continued, "is what we will do from here. The Goa'uld are coming, but we are not without options."

"We should strike out against them at once, my lord," Caldwell said immediately. "Why let them control everything about our situation? We must take what advantage we have and choose where and when we will make our stand."

Caldwell spoke with authority, and many men in the tent responded, murmuring their assents and nodding. John shifted uncomfortably, knowing he disagreed with the general sentiment now prevalent in the room. He looked at Caldwell and discovered that the older man was staring straight at him, almost in challenge.

John had never been good at backing down from challenges.

"Lord Stephen, I must disagree," he said, a little loudly to be heard over the chatter of all the lords around him. A hush soon fell, and John fought against the urge to squirm under scrutiny. "We have only the advantage of choosing where we will fight. We have amassed as great an army as we can, but it is not enough." He glanced at Lord Haikon, the leader of a band of mercenaries who had joined their forces. "Even with the help of the Sodan, we are too few. If we meet the Goa'uld in open battle now, it will be our undoing."

Several began to disagree with him loudly, but Caldwell's voice cut through them all. "And what would you have us do, Lord John? Retreat across Dixon to Redwater? Or perhaps as far as Doranda? Shall we flee before this army and let our wives and children be cut down because we were too few to defend them?"

John looked to the king, but saw that he might be alone in this amid the barrage of disapproval being lobbed at him. "I would not," he replied, as forcefully as he could. "Neither would I see my people cut down in an act of a fool."

"Oh, then I am to be a fool?" Caldwell retorted, sitting back in his chair and glaring at John with the disdain that only a man of his standing could muster.

"The Tok'ra are coming. We know this," John pressed. "We know they have been dispatched and that they have been granted passage through Atalan."

"And what possible reason could Atalan have for granting such a thing?" someone at the other end of the tent demanded. "Does that girl they call queen believe that were our situations reversed, we would do the same?"

"Yes, and if you had any decency about you, you would not think to say such a thing," John fired back, almost ready to jump from his chair in anger. "Queen Elizabeth acted with selfless dignity, in our interest as fellow human beings, not as Atalanian or Caldoran. That is an attitude which this country could do with more of."

"The Tok'ra are still weeks away, by our best estimate," Caldwell said after a moment of stunned silence around the room, bringing the confrontation back to the main point. "Do you propose, Lord John, that we tarry here until they arrive, or retreat our way across the countryside until they have come to our rescue?"

"What choice do we have?" John asked in response. "If we do otherwise, we will be slaughtered. Who then will defend our wives and children?"

Others began to argue the case, but no resolution was reached. King Henry soon turned the discussion to another topic, and as he did so, John saw a shade of unease on the king's face at the options presented to him. They were stuck between two impossible choices, and John did not envy him his decision.

When the meeting had concluded, John and Cameron tried to slip out quickly, but it was not to be. Caldwell caught up to him at the exit and said, "Lord John, I would like a word with you."

Not feeling himself in a position to refuse, John followed him into the tent he presumed belonged to Caldwell. "You cannot seriously believe that we should wait for the Goa'uld to come to us," Caldwell said without preamble.

John shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I do," he replied. "I do not believe that throwing troops at a force like this blindly is in the best interest of our country. I have seen the carnage that results from such a decision."

"The Goa'uld are not the Ori, nor the Ancients," said Caldwell. "You have never fought them."

"Neither have you," John protested. "I do not believe that either choice is a good one, but when I am forced to choose between the lesser of two evils, I will choose the one that puts fewer people at risk of mass slaughter."

"Is this something learned from that child-queen you swore allegiance to?" Caldwell sneered. "Do not bother defending her to me. She is too young and inexperienced to understand anything that is going on here."

John narrowed his eyes. "Is that your problem with me?" he asked. "Is this because I swore loyalty to her?"

"Yes," Caldwell answered bluntly. "You preferred to pledge yourself to a rival queen rather than to your own sovereign."

"In case you've forgotten, my own sovereign cast me aside as a worthless criminal," John shot back. "I swore my loyalty to someone who earned it."

"And now you have come back and taken a place as a powerful man in Caldora," Caldwell continued, contempt and suspicion in every word. "You have yet to renounce your pledge to Atalan, and now you even have the chance to become Caldora's next king. Perhaps you have the ambition to do so."

John stared in shock for a moment. Become Caldora's next king – by marrying Princess Carolyn? "You will run mad with such theories, Lord Stephen," he said.

"You have not proven yourself loyal to your birth land, or even attached to it," Caldwell replied coldly. "It might be in your own best interests to do so."

John held the older man's gaze for a moment before remembering his cousin's advice. Instead of unleashing the outburst on his tongue, he left without a word, knowing that Cameron would commiserate with him.


	2. Chapter 2

  
It was late in the evening before John stopped ranting about Caldwell. Cameron realized for the first time, when John finally sat down and started sulking, that while the new marquis had some of the best of his mother's qualities, he was his father's son, through and through. Cameron suspected that this was a lifelong grudge in the making.

John grabbed a bottle of rum and drank from it directly. "You've said very little, cousin."

"You've hardly drawn breath," Cameron replied. "What do you want me to say?"

"A word of support," John said. "Understanding. Repetition."

Cameron took the bottle away and drank from it too. "Caldwell was out of line," he said carefully.

"You'll have to do better than that," John replied, snatching the rum back.

"All right. He's a pompous bastard."

John laughed and raised the bottle in salute before drinking again.

They went back and forth, trading insults about Caldwell and others among the nobility, and occasionally about each other. But Cameron was careful not to drink nearly as much as John did. He didn't so much mind the prospect of a splitting headache in the morning, but he feared what he might say while inebriated.

Caldwell had been out of line, saying what he did about Atalan, but Cameron didn't entirely agree with John either. He would not dare bring it up, especially now, but he had difficulty understanding why John had sworn an oath to Elizabeth of Atalan in the first place. Cameron had no particular ill feeling toward his northern neighbor, but he never would have dreamed that John would serve any foreign power, despite the exile. It just felt wrong, and did not match with what he remembered of his cousin.

To make matters worse, John had not sworn loyalty to King Henry, and Cameron did not think his cousin intended to.

He held his tongue on the matter, though, and before long John turned serious, staring at nothing as he passed the rum to Cameron. "Do you know what is worst about this?" he asked.

"What?" Cameron replied, taking the bottle but not drinking from it.

"The Goa'uld use mostly slaves in their army," John said. "So we are defending ourselves and our homeland against an army of slaves."

Cameron narrowed his eyes. "I don't –"

John looked at him with surprising clarity. "What do you think we were to the Ori?" he asked. "We were hardly better than cattle. I have been on the other side of this war, Cameron. It is not a happy circumstance for anyone involved."

John got up then and wandered over to his bedroll, clearly not wanting to talk any more. Cameron put the rum away. Fervently he hoped that his cousin would stay away from Caldwell from now on, but he knew that hope was in vain.

* * *

  
The province of Dixon was comprised almost entirely of plains, a huge area as flat and level as a ballroom floor and nearly as featureless. The nearest hills were a few miles away, where the Otero River flowed southward through low mounds on either side, hardly high enough to be called hills. John had always found the place foreign, so accustomed was he to the miles and miles of rolling hillsides he had once called home.

Yet strangely, that empty land bred tremendous thunderstorms, violent and fleeting. In the afternoon, clouds would rise in the western sky, seemingly innocuous, yet bringing with them terrible lightning, torrential rain, and even hail. The wind sometimes seemed strong enough to knock a man from his feet. But when the storm had passed, the landscape would seem ever as it was: green and flat, save for a few hills near the river to the west.

John was alone in his tent, considering his countrymen's situation and resisting the draw of a bottle of rum. He remembered years ago with the Ori, and how days and days of inactivity had driven many to a near-constant state of inebriation. But there were weighty matters for John to contemplate now.

For now, the Otero River stood between the two armies, but the Goa'uld were sure to cross it eventually. The Caldorans were camped alongside a very difficult crossing, and a much easier crossing lay several miles to the north. John guessed that once the Goa'uld had crossed the Otero, they would circle back and attack the Caldorans, pushing them westward to the river. The smaller Caldoran army would be trapped by the rushing water. The mighty river that sheltered them now from direct attack would bury them.

He was reaching for a map, wondering if he should suggest the army move to a different place, when his cousin called from outside, "My lord?"

"Come," John replied, glancing up.

Cameron stepped inside, shaking himself a little to get some of the water off. This particular thunderstorm had been less violent, but longer than usual. With it had come a sweltering heat, and the muggy air had only grown thicker with the rain. "John, we've had word from the scouts," Cameron said. "The Goa'uld are encamping along this side of the Otero tonight, in that bend in the river a few miles southwest of here. If this rain keeps up they may be there for some time."

John frowned. "This side of the river?" he repeated. The river narrowed out a little at that bend, but there were easier crossings upstream. Why would they choose a more southerly crossing?

"I don't pretend to understand them, cousin," Cameron said with a shrug. "I don't think they know how close they are to us. It's hard to gauge distance out here with no real landmarks this side of the river."

"We probably have another day or two before they advance toward us. Even at that bend, crossing the river is no easy task," John remarked. It would be a full day's work for the whole army, rumored to be fifteen thousand strong. "I doubt they would want to attack immediately after such an undertaking."

"Besides, you have to wonder how many of their soldiers have ever seen weather like this before," Cameron replied. "Even you and I aren't used to storms like this, and from what I understand, most of Goa'uld territory is desert."

John nodded silently. For the Goa'uld to attack in these conditions would be like the Caldorans trying to lay siege to Atlantis in the dead of winter. It snowed occasionally in Caldora, but the extent of such storms was usually a light dusting that melted away by evening, not the bitter storms of Atalan, leaving feet of snow to be dug out afterward.

A thought began to form in John's mind, and he looked up at Cameron to see a pensive expression on his cousin's face. "Cameron," he said, "are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Cameron narrowed his eyes. "The others would never agree to it."

"They might," John said, rising. "Let's find the king."

Cameron looked a little annoyed, but picked up John's cloak and handed it to him anyway. "If there's anyone in this camp who could be talked into a crazy idea," he remarked sourly, "unfortunately, it's him."

* * *

  
The rain was picking up again when the lords of Sheppard were admitted into the king's tent. King Henry was with Lord Stephen. John would have preferred to have this conversation in front of someone other than Caldwell, but for now he was grateful that only a few would hear his insane idea.

Thunder rumbled over them, and Henry glanced up as though daring the gods of the sky to continue. "Lord John, Lord Mitchell," he greeted. "You wished to speak with me?"

John and Cameron looked at each other for a moment. "Lord Mitchell relayed to me the scouts' report," John began. "Is it true that they're camping along this side of the river?"

Henry nodded once. "It is."

"My lord, I believe this presents us with an opportunity." John spared a glance at Caldwell. "An opportunity to strike."

Caldwell barked out a laugh. "Not five days ago you told me in no uncertain terms that striking out at the Goa'uld was a suicide mission."

"I did, and I believed it," John replied. "In the morning I will believe it again, but for now I see a change in our favor."

Caldwell appeared to have another scathing retort on his tongue, but the king spoke first. "What change do you see, sir?"

"The weather," John said. "It's been raining for days. The Goa'uld will be ankle-deep in mud where they have camped for the night."

"What advantage would that be?" Caldwell asked.

"Most of the Goa'uld-held territories are desert," John told him, trying to remain calm about everything. "I doubt many of their soldiers have ever seen this much rain. The fact that they are camping by the river when it is near to flooding is testament enough to their inexperience with this kind of weather."

"You are suggesting, then, that we attack them..." Henry said leadingly.

"Tonight, my lord," Cameron replied, speaking for the first time since he and John had entered. "I do not doubt that we can overcome them in these circumstances."

John glanced at his cousin. He still had doubts of his own, but nothing in Cameron's appearance belied any uncertainty.

Henry stared at the two men before turning his attention to the table, sweeping aside rolls of paper to reveal a map beneath. Caldwell, Cameron, and John all approached as the king began to speak. "They are camping here at the bend," he said, pointing out a position some three or four miles away from their own encampment. There the Otero curved one way and then back like a horseshoe, an enormous peninsula of land formed by the river. "There is but a narrow opening to the rest of the land. It would be easily defended."

Caldwell reached out and indicated two places near the river bend. "There are two higher hills here," he pointed out. "From what Lord Mitchell has shown us, the Goa'uld are susceptible to the arrow. Would not such a terrain be ideal for a troop of archers, Lord John?"

John looked at Caldwell warily, but nodded anyway. "Indeed it would."

Henry looked at Caldwell sharply. "Stephen, do you mean to tell me you agree with this madness?"

"I do," he replied. "Madness it may be, yet it may also be our only chance to fight back at them and hope to survive."

Henry looked down at his map, shaking his head. "Lunatics, all of you," he muttered. "What of the other side of the river? It may be difficult to cross en masse, but I can imagine a large part of their army trying to flee across it anyway if this works."

"Let Lord John command the archers from the hills, and let the men of Sheppard, Landry, Reynolds, Pierce, and Davis mount the assault," Caldwell replied. He pointed out a wider part of the river, where the water would be calm and shallow. "Take the Sodan as well. I shall take the rest of our forces across the river to cut off any attempt at retreat."

"I see you do not spare your own men for the main part of the attacking force," Cameron remarked. John looked at him in deep surprise. His cousin had told him of how uncomfortable and out of place he felt with his noble peers, but it seemed the young man had found his tongue.

Caldwell, on his part, looked as amused as a cat who had found a new plaything. "Very well, then, Lord Mitchell," he said, condescension in every word. "Take Icaria with you as well."

"With me?" Cameron repeated.

"This is your crazy idea," the older man replied. "It is only fair."

"I will lead them myself," Landry cut in. "But you, Mitchell, prepare your militia. Caldwell, call my officers. Sheppard, gather the archers. It will not be long before the sun has set. If we are to have any chance of success, we must set off within the hour."

As they all exited the tent, lightning flashed violently across the sky and thunder roared in its wake. "Pray that this is no ill tiding for your plan, Sheppard," Caldwell remarked, somewhat snidely.

"No, sir," John replied, his stubbornness outweighing his doubt. "It is the harbinger of our salvation."

* * *

  
Half an hour later, Cameron was hoarse from shouting over the sound of rain.

The weeks of sitting idle had left the men restless. Now that the time for action had come, Cameron was reminded of the first time he mounted his horse. The stallion had been difficult to control, fidgeting anxiously and unsure of his new master.

"Take off your shoes," Cameron went about ordering. Heavy boots would only impede them in the mud. His own boots lay in his tent, though he wore his leather armor over his tunic and trousers. "Carry with you nothing metal but your sword. We must have the element of surprise with us, and if a chain dangles about your neck, it can make a sound and give us up." Not to mention the possibility of light reflecting and giving away the plan. If this had any hope of working, they needed the full advantage of surprise.

He was talking fast and walking faster. All around, other officers were giving similar instructions. It seemed like too little time had passed, though, when he gathered up his men and formed up with the rest, ready to march. He remembered the night on the hillside, when he and his men had stopped the Goa'uld from ambushing the Sheppard militia. Would some young officer among the Goa'uld try to do the same to them tonight?

He was just about to start pacing and inspecting his troops again when his cousin called, "Cameron!"

He turned to see John jogging toward him, his normally wild hair tamped down by the rain. "John," Cameron said as soon as the other man was near enough to hear him. "Are the archers ready?"

John nodded and looked at him closely. "Are you ready?"

Cameron looked around and lowered his voice. "As ready as I will be."

John grasped Cameron's shoulders. "You are able, cousin," he said quietly. "Do not doubt yourself, and your men will not doubt you either."

Cameron could not say anything at first, so surprised was he by the man before him. In that moment, he saw the spectre of Geoffrey of Sheppard in the figure of his youngest son.

John brought one hand up to the back of Cameron's head for a moment before releasing him. "Do not forget to breathe, Cameron," John said over his shoulder.

"Nor you," Cameron replied.

They nodded to each other, and then John disappeared. Cameron had to wonder for a moment at the change that had been wrought in his cousin. Seemingly overnight, he had transformed into the man Caldora desperately needed if they were to survive.

Up ahead, a call went out, and the army began to move. Cameron swallowed hard and led his men forth.

* * *

  
John watched as Caldwell led a good portion of their forces toward the river before giving the order to his company of archers to lead the way to the hills that sheltered the Goa'uld. Dixon led the other company, and the foot soldiers followed behind.

As they approached the enemy, the wind ceased and a thick mist settled upon the land, though the rain was still steady. He and Cameron had been right, however. There was mud everywhere, and he and his men had quite a time climbing up the hill on the left. Dixon and his men were on the right, and three columns of soldiers waited behind them.

Down below, John could hear the sounds of life in the Goa'uld camp. Scattered throughout was the glow of campfires, and he saw men moving about. The mist had settled into the lower places, but from their vantage in the hills, the archers would be able to see better than those on the ground. It should have been a bright evening, but the full moon was shrouded by the same heavy clouds that brought the rain.

Suddenly he heard the clashing of metal, the sound of sword meeting sword. Yet it was from behind, not from the Goa'uld camp before him. John swung around, hoping to see anything. His only guess was that some hapless watchmen had seen the Caldoran army sneaking up on the camp and engaged them, a thought that sent a sinking feeling into his stomach. A few moments later, his fear was confirmed: the sound of a trumpet alarm rang through the night.

They had intended to wait a while longer, giving Caldwell more time to cut off the Goa'uld escape route, but that was no longer an option. "Bowmen, at the ready!" John yelled instead, taking his place in the line. On both hilltops, the archers of Caldora drew bow and arrow. John could hear the confusion in the camp below. They had to attack before the Goa'uld could mount a defense. "On my mark!" he cried, drawing his own bowstring, arrow between his fingers. "Ready, aim, fire!"

It had been many years since he had last fired a bow in a battle like this. His heart was pounding now as much as it had when he was fourteen years old.

* * *

  
At the sound of a clarion, Cameron whipped around, trying to determine what was going on. A few seconds later, he heard the order to fire up in the hills, and his blood started to race. Surely this was not meant to have started so quickly!

He tightened the strap on his leather helmet and drew his sword. In the camp before them he could already hear shouting, along with cries of pain. Then the order went forth, and the Caldorans began to swarm into the Goa'uld camp.

The archers had taken out a great number of the first potential defenders, and Cameron was grateful when they altered their attack, firing into the rear portions of the camp. The last thing he needed to worry about was being shot by one of his own people.

He and his men pushed deep into the camp, engaging the enemy at every turn. Caught unawares, the Goa'uld were hopelessly overwhelmed. Cameron would no sooner be done with pulling his sword out of one soldier before pursuing the next. He tried to remember his cousin's advice, but there was no time to breathe.

They drove further down the camp, seeing more and more soldiers fleeing in the face of the wall of Caldoran troops appearing from the mist. Rain mingled with smoke from campfires stung in Cameron's eyes. The mud was deep and many Jaffa fell, only to be slaughtered by the pursuing Caldorans.

Cameron was about to call his men back to regroup and push into a different part of the camp when a giant appeared before him. Head and shoulders taller than Cameron, the man was heavily armored, carrying a sword that looked to weigh more than Cameron did. He swallowed hard, but raised his blade.

With both hands, his attacker raised his own sword over his head and charged, intent on cleaving Cameron in two. Cameron ducked to the left, letting the man fall past him. He spun around more quickly than the other man and kept moving to keep from sinking in the mud. The giant slashed, Cameron parried, and so they went for several minutes, or so it felt. Every advantage the Goa'uld soldier had in size and strength and weaponry was lost to the weather. Cameron only had to hold on long enough to wear the other man down.

He fairly danced about, and could almost taste his opponent's frustration. At last the soldier moved as he had at first, raising his arms up and preparing to attack. But from high above an arrow whizzed down, striking him in the side, between the two pieces of armor, piercing deep into his body.

The giant stumbled, then pitched forward. Cameron jumped out of the way as man and sword crashed into the earth. He stood for a moment, just staring at the fallen enemy, and silently thanked whatever archer had fired such a shot.

* * *

  
Up on the hilltop, John was out of arrows himself, but was still directing the fire of those whose quivers were not empty. At another time, he would have drawn his sword and joined in the fray below, but such was not his province now.

From his vantage point, the battle looked to be nearly over. The Goa'uld soldiers situated in the rear of the camp had fled in large numbers across the river, many before Caldwell's force had sufficient time to intercept them. More were still attempting to flee, but John could hear the distant sound of battle on the other side of the river.

They had been successful, at least in part.

By the time the fighting was over the fires had all but died, but the sun was beginning to peek through openings in the clouds, burning off the mist as the rain ceased. At that moment, John could finally see the havoc they had wrought in the night. There were bodies everywhere.

Caldwell was bringing his men back across the river as John and Dixon led the archers down the hills. Landry was the first he met, limping a little as he moved away from the river. "Lord John," he said in greeting.

"Majesty," John replied. "How do you fare?"

"I am reminded now that I am not as young as I was the last time I did this," he said wryly. John smiled a little at that. "You?"

John shrugged. "I had the easy job."

"Oh, to be an archer."

John looked about somewhat anxiously. "Has my cousin been spotted yet?"

"Not to my knowledge," Landry replied. "He'll turn up."

Caldwell reached them then, looking annoyed at the world. "My lord," he said to the king, bowing respectfully, "was not the attack to happen only after my men and I had had adequate time to cut off their way of escape?"

"Things change, Stephen," Henry replied. "You of all people should remember that in battle, the battle plan is the first casualty."

"That change cost us dearly," Caldwell continued seriously. "I know not how many men fled across the river before we could intercept them."

"We will know soon enough," said the king. "No soldier of the Goa'uld is left living upon this field. Before the day is out, we shall have an estimate of how their army is decreased."

Caldwell and Landry continued to discuss particulars, but John's attention was drawn away by a familiar figure approaching them. He broke off from the group when he recognized his cousin, even more wet and mud-splattered than John was but alive, and very nearly ran to greet him. "Cameron, are you all right?" he asked.

The younger man nodded. "You?"

"The same."

The two men stared for a moment longer before they both broke into weary laughter, embracing each other. "Our lunatic plan worked, John," Cameron said, clapping him on the back.

"I know," John replied. "I hardly know how to believe it."

"Captain!" the king's voice called, and the two headed back to Landry's side. "Captain, have you anything to report?"

Cameron stood up straight and tall, hands clasped behind his back, despite the blood and dirt all over his clothes and face. "The men are counting casualties now, but some numbers are already circulating," he told the king. "Among the peers and their sons, we have seven dead, though I know no names yet. All told, fewer than one hundred perished."

Landry nodded gravely. "And what of our foe?"

There Cameron could not keep a neutral expression upon his face. "Five thousand dead at least, my lord."

John's jaw dropped. The Goa'uld had had _fifteen thousand_ men at least when they had crossed the Mearali all those weeks ago. Had they truly cut down a third of that force? They had been outnumbered three to one just yesterday. Was it now two to one?

Once the king's own look of shock had subsided, he smiled at the lords of Sheppard. "Well done, sirs," he said simply. "Well done."

* * *

  
In the days that followed the miraculous battle at the river bend, the Caldorans buried their dead. The Goa'uld made no attempt to do the same, so the Caldorans did it for them. It was a grueling task.

Eventually, though, life in the army's encampment seemed to return to normal. They were not sure what to do with their victory, for such a surprise attack could hardly be attempted again with the same results. In the end, John suggested another lunatic plan – take their newfound leverage, having slaughtered a full third of the Goa'uld force, to begin negotiations with the Goa'uld.

The aim was not to negotiate an end to the war, however, but to stall. A day or two after the battle, John received a hastily-written note from Jack of Neill, informing him that the Tok'ra force was perhaps three weeks away, at the most. Not long after, they heard a rumor that two of the Goa'uld lords had broken off of the invading force, taking their men with them to their own lands. Once the Tok'ra arrived, the Caldorans would have a chance to win this war at last.

His suggestion was not well received, although Cameron pointed out that if he'd spoken such a thing before the battle at the river, the reaction likely would have been even worse.

A week after the battle, John was summoned to the king's tent. The two guards standing at the open tent flaps nodded to him and let him pass between them wordlessly. Only a few months earlier, he could have been killed for trying to walk in their midst. Now, with his honor restored and his father gone, he was one of the most powerful men in Caldora.

It felt strange.

"Your Majesty?" he said upon entering.

King Henry looked up from a table spread about with papers and candles, and he waved John over. "My lord," he said, "I am in need of your advice."

John hesitated a moment before walking up to the other side of the table. "I am no expert in Goa'uld tactics," he said.

"Neither am I," said the king, "but perhaps we can conceal that fact from those outside this tent."

He'd said it lightly, but as John settled down across the table, he tried not to wince. He'd had enough concealing of facts for a lifetime.

They worked in relative quiet for a little while, talking only of business and war as the candles burned lower and lower. John remembered hearing, when he had returned from the east, that the new king had been a good soldier and become a good leader in his service to the military. It was evident now that while he claimed to be no expert on the Goa'uld, he had taken his ignorance seriously and found a tutor on their ways.

Eventually, however, the stacks of papers and maps were set aside in favor of a small bottle of port. The drink was much favored in Caldora's court, a sweet, heavy wine usually served at the end of meals. The king's port was in no way inferior, but John found himself missing the drinks served at Elizabeth's table.

King Henry did not fail to notice that John drank slowly. "Has Atalan ruined your tongue, sir?" he said.

John smiled ruefully. "I suppose it is possible," he replied. "The queen favors lighter wines than this."

"And could you only drink what the queen prefers?"

John looked at him seriously. "At her table, yes."

They two men stared at each other for a little while, and John could tell the moment in which the king realized what he was trying to tell him. While he could not have turned his back on his country in this dark hour, any more than he could have turned his back on a child in pain, it was not Henry of Landry's need that had ultimately allowed him to stay after his father's death. Elizabeth, knowing his country's great need, had permitted him to. She would never have prevented him.

And despite everything happening now, John was loyal to her above all else. As he and Henry stared at each other, John thought that the sovereign finally, finally understood.

The moment passed, and the king looked away. "Your cousin is becoming quite the strategist," he remarked idly.

"Cameron? He always had a mind for such thing," John replied. "In fact, I wondered why you asked for me now instead of him."

Henry regarded him critically. "You did not wonder," he contradicted. "You know exactly why I wished to speak with you in private."

John rarely talked about the Ori or the exile, and never easily, but now he had both the opportunity and the will to speak. "You cast me aside when I nearly died in service to my country." He could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I fought for a cause none believed in because it was my duty. And when I did an honorable thing you would not defend me. You did not even show me justice, let alone mercy."

The king set his wine aside. "It was something I could not afford," he replied. "Believe me, Lord John, I lost an old friend that day. A friend and ally."

John had not been there during the succession battle, but when he returned to Caldora he learned that his father had been one of Landry's primary supporters, and not because the House of Landry was a lesser one and more susceptible to flattery of noblemen. He had supported Henry's bid for the crown out of a genuine belief that he would rule well.

John knew that the king's decision to exile him had been difficult, but his own strong sense of absolutes still protested the treatment. It had been wrong.

But in a strange way, perhaps it had helped bring his country's salvation in this hour. He remembered one of his last conversations with Elizabeth, when she had all but confirmed that she was adamant about helping Caldora because of him.

Of course, thinking about that conversation drifted inevitably into the last time he had seen her. He pushed away the thought of a soft, lithe body and warm, eager lips.

John decided to change the subject. "How fares the princess?" he asked.

Henry nodded. "She is well, at least in body," he replied. "I think she may be irritated by now that I left her to run the country. She probably would have preferred to come here than deal with the assembly."

"It's probably for the best that she stayed behind," John mused, thinking of Sarah Gardner and her ordeal with the Goa'uld. "This close to the enemy, there is no real safety. The Goa'uld have certain reputations in regard to women, especially handsome ones, and Princess Carolyn has become a rather beautiful woman."

There was a long, heavy pause. "You know, there was a time when I thought you would have courted her."

John shifted uncomfortably, for there was a time when he would have. He was one of the few men in the country who would be considered of an appropriate rank to wed the princess. That was especially true now that her brother was dead, for when Henry died, it was his son-in-law, not his daughter, who would inherit the throne. Carolyn had barely been of marriageable age the last time he had seen her, so he had held his tongue on the matter. But if he was truthful, his reticence had came from the fact that he had absolutely no desire to be king.

Of course, now there was another reason for reticence as well.

"Well," Henry said, breaking John's mental wanderings, "I should let you rest. I imagine the last few weeks have been trying for you, and I do not foresee an immediate time when you will not have much to do."

That was true. John nodded as he rose and took his leave, returning to his own tent. That night, his dreams were filled with the war that ended his childhood and with his years of exile, but most of all he dreamt of Elizabeth.


End file.
